Legs Are for Walking (ON HIATUS)
by Lil' Hedgepig
Summary: "Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes is called again to aid the police of London in an investigation that involves a killer who has a very odd obsessiveness over the legs of his victims. Can Sherlock and his trusty partner John Watson solve the mystery?"
1. Interesting Hobbies

Chapter 1: "Interesting Hobbies"

Sherlock Holmes adjusted his telescope a few degrees to the left and zoomed in on the window of the set of apartments across from his own. As he looked into the telescope, he noticed a man in about his fifties attempting to perform yoga and clip his toenails at the same time. Sherlock didn't know why he wasted his time watching this man attempt this rather disturbing feat, but for one thing; he found it amusing watching the man fail.

John Watson walked in from the front door of their shared flat and stumbled on Sherlock and his little setup. Watson wasn't amused, neither was he curious, but it was his duty as Sherlock's flatmate and partner to make sure he wasn't losing his mind.

"Sherlock, what in God's name are you doing?"

Sherlock didn't even seemed the least bit startled by his partner, but only adjusted the telescope again, then sat back.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

Sherlock closed his eyes tightly in embarrassment.

"No, don't answer that; I'm watching the man across the street."

Watson set his suitcase down by the door and straightened himself up.

"Why?" He asked flatly.

Sherlock sat back in his chair.

"You see, I'm observing this man attempt what I'd call a rather interesting feat."

Watson put his hand on his forehead.

"What would that be?"

Sherlock gestured to the telescope.

"Take a look." He beckoned.

Watson took his time getting to the telescope and leaning down to get a good look through and saw just what Sherlock had seen, except, the man was in a much more tense position, while still trying to clip his toenails. After a moment, Watson removed himself from the telescope and took a step back.

"Alright then, that is the last time I ask you what you're doing when I get home."

Sherlock let loose a slight grin.

"Glad to know we're on the same page then. Any news?"

Watson shook his head, then sat down in the chair across from Sherlock. Sherlock himself looked disappointed that there was no case to work on, in fact, there had not been one in at least four months, leaving Sherlock incredibly bored, because after all, he was a sleuth.

Sherlock popped the safety cap back onto the telescope and moved to his more comfortable seat, as he was sitting on a fold-up chair before. He decided to pull out his laptop, and did so, but the sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs took hold of his attention; it was Mrs. Hudson coming up with tea for the both of men.

"Why, how are you two today?" The kindly, old landlady asked.

Watson turned around his chair to greet Mrs. Hudson, but Sherlock did not.

"I'm fine; you brought tea?"

She smiled.

"Of course dear. I know you always want some after a hard day's work. How is the clinic?"

Watson took a cup off the tray she was holding and began to drink it.

"It's good, saving lives, you know." He said hesitantly, but he tried to make it seem legitimate with a sloppy swing of his arm, almost causing himself to drop his tea.

"Someone died today, didn't they." Sherlock said without looking up.

Watson hung his head low.

"Yes." Watson said sadly.

Mrs. Hudson put her hand over her mouth.

"Oh, that's too bad dear. Well, they're in a better place now."

Sherlock let out a quiet chuckle, but Watson heard it loud and clear.

"What? You don't believe in the afterlife?" Watson asked.

Sherlock shook his head, continuing to laugh.

"No, I don't believe they're in a better place."

Watson again let his head drop, not even bothering to argue with Sherlock.

Mrs. Hudson set down the tray on the table, and was about to leave when something came to her mind.

"Oh, speaking of better places, the Detective Inspector called."

Sherlock looked up.

"Really? What for?"

Mrs. Hudson put her hand on her chin.

"I'm not sure, but he said that he wanted you to head down there; that your interesting hobbies would come in handy."

At that instant, Sherlock was up, out of his chair, had his coat on, and was down stairs. Watson had only barely gotten up.

"Why is he in a rush?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"He's bored." Watson responded, heading downstairs after him.

Mrs. Hudson didn't understand.

"Sherlock Holmes bored? What has the world come to?" She said aloud.


	2. Autopsy Gone Wrong

Chapter 2: "Autopsy Gone Wrong"

"I can't believe this." Molly Hooper said while examining the bodies. It was a gruesome sight to behold as each of the bodies, totaling seven, had their legs detached from their bodies along with that, each and every toenail was picked clean off the toes.

"This is just horrific!" She exclaimed. Never in her years as a Forensic Pathologist had she seen such a brutal sight.

It wasn't long before Detective Inspector Lestrade walked into the morgue. Sherlock and Watson trailed in behind him to discover the gruesome sight of the corpses.

"That's unpleasant." Watson said abruptly.

Molly removed her gloves. "Tell me about it. I've never seen anything like this before."

"Neither have I." Sherlock replied, appearing next to Molly, which gave her a fright.

The Detective Inspector gave Sherlock a strange look then directed his attention to Molly. "Do we know who these people are? Any of them?"

Molly took a moment to flip through her clipboard filled up with as much information that could have been gathered from each of the victims. "Only one." Molly walked down to the other end of the morgue and stopped at a short, plump, brown haired man. "I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Alfred Grover."

"The name fits him." Lestrade said sarcastically.

Sherlock examined each of the bodies in his own special way, carefully picking up details as he scanned each body. "Not much to go on. Is there?" He asked Molly.

"No." She responded. "I've been hard at work and have barely found anything."

"And our Mr. Grover?" Sherlock asked, spending more time examining his body.

The D.I. pulled out his notepad. "We're still checking our sources but from we know, he is a high stakes businessman." Lestrade flipped a page. "He worked for a elite company that specialized in..."

"Footwear." Sherlock cut him off.

Lestrade looked up at him. "Right,"

"Wouldn't that give us some insight as to who the murderer is? I mean, our Mr. Grover here works for a footwear company, so maybe it would explain why the murderer cleaned off the feet." Watson theorized.

"Not quite; we can't be sure for certain until we get the rest of the information on the other victims." Sherlock replied.

"Where do we go from here?" Watson asked, looking at the D.I.

The D.I. flipped through his notepad. "I'd suggest the corporate office. Maybe find out who Mr. Grover had connections with."

Molly hadn't been listening for the majority of the time the others had been in the room chatting away. She had been double checking each body, checking extensively for anything that she might have missed. Molly nearly slapped herself at the find she just made. Unprofessionally, she had forgotten to check the back side of the victims. "Found something." She alerted the others. "A bullet."

This find seemed to capture the attention of all three men in the room, who quickly scurried over to the body to examine the body along side Molly.

"How'd you miss this during your first go around?" The D.I. asked her, giving a stern look.

Molly bowed her head in a fit of shame. "Simply my unprofessionalism." She admitted. She got over it very quickly and extracted the bullet from the wound. "I'll run this up to Forensics for analysis." Molly said, putting the bullet into a small plastic bag. "I can't believe I missed that." She said, frowning.

Sherlock appeared next to her, again, surprising her. "Don't get so murderous over it; I'll be picking up for your mistake anyways."

Molly simply turned to him and gave him a slap across his face. "You can call me murderous when you find something to match this bullet."

Sherlock rubbed his cheek. "I'll take you up on your offer." He slipped on his black, cotton gloves and turned to Watson. "Come on Watson, our feet are going places." Sherlock took his usually long strides out the door, but not before stopping to rip the sheet of paper from Lestrade. "Thank you." Sherlock replied before vanishing without a trace. Lestrade was speechless.

Watson took a deep breath while shaking his head. "I'll never understand how that man's mind works."

Lestrade laughed. "I've been forced to work with him for close to two years now, and I barely know how he solves his cases."

Watson sighed and went after Sherlock.


	3. First Piece of Information

Chapter 3: "First Piece of Information"

Sherlock and Watson got a cab and drove uptown straight to the address of which Lestrade had announced to them, which was the particular footwear company that their deceased Alfred Grover was a higher-up in the corporate side of the the company.

The building of which was a major factory and local headquarters for the company was as tall and elaborately structured that it could have been considered an architectural wonder if it had existed in earlier days. The exterior of the building was one of sheer beauty. The stone that made up the initial foundation of the walls of the building were of a pure white.

"What do you expect to find here, Sherlock?" Watson asked.

"Answers." Sherlock replied, as he opened the door to the main lobby.

The lobby was just as elaborate as the outside of the building seemed. The floor was made of polished marble, with large, stylish rugs laid in various areas of the floor. Along the edge of the room, grey-padded chairs lined the wall, and right in front of the two was the front desk, with a rather short woman with her brunette hair pulled back and tied in a bun. She was typing away at her computer but quickly gave Sherlock her attention when he walked right up to her.

"Good after-" She started before getting cut off by Sherlock.

"I'm looking for Mr. Alfred Grover." He said quickly.

She looked at him in question. "I'm sorry sir, but Mr. Grover hasn't been at-" She tried to reply before getting cut off by Sherlock again.

"I know; where is his office?" He asked.

The woman couldn't figure out what the man before him was trying to go after.

"His office, sir?"

Sherlock nodded fervently. "Yes, his office."

The woman did some typing away at her computer before getting at the information which Sherlock asked for.

"Mr. Grover's office his on the third floor, room three twenty-five."

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you." He said, before turning away.

The woman was quick to ask him a question that she held onto since he mentioned Grover.

"Sir, why do you want to see Grover?" She asked.

Sherlock turned around, his hands held in front of him.

"Why not?"

The woman took a moment, then spoke.

"We've gotten reports of him having strange behavior." She said.

This took up Sherlock's interest. "And?" He said plainly, wanting her to continue. He was most intrigued.

The woman adjusted the pair of spectacles that rested on the bridge of her nose.

"You see sir, Mr. Grove is a man of routine, and he is very prudent on his routine. He's the sort of man who will become angry when he doesn't hold true." She said.

Sherlock watched her unceasingly. "What change have you noticed?"

"Mr. Grover usually stands right over there and talks on the phone in the morning." She told him, pointing near a marble pillar near the front door. "He's there until around eleven when he leaves for lunch, then he comes back and heads up to his office. I don't see him leave until around midnight."

Sherlock nodded.

The woman continued. "Well, only just recently, that has all changed. Since I've seen him, he's never there in the mornings, he goes straight to his office, and I've even heard people say that he's even been skipping lunch." She said. "I only seem him over there very late, and his tone has changed when he talks on the phone. It's become very hurried and almost frightened. Once he does finish his calls, he'll quickly walk out of the building and dart his eyes around as if he thinking he's being watched or something."

Sherlock pulled on his gloves a bit and merely smiled at the woman. "Thank you for the information." He said, before turning a second time to leave.

The woman soon caught on to what Sherlock was here for.

"What happened to him, Sir?" She asked.

Sherlock didn't turn around. "Do you really want to know?" He asked.

The woman merely nodded. For some reason, she understood that words weren't needed.

"Alfred Grover is dead." Sherlock said coldly.

The woman did not react, say for tilting her head down.

"You had originally been afraid of that." Sherlock said,

The woman nodded.

Sherlock turned around. "What's your name?" He asked.

The woman looked up at him. "Sarah, Sarah Parker, sir." She responded. "Why did you want to know that?" She asked.

"I had to." Sherlock said before finally turning around and walking away, leaving Sarah stunned at her desk. Watson quickly went after Sherlock.


	4. A Friendly Discussion

**Author's Note: Well, here's chapter four. I know this story is slow moving, but with everything going on in my life right now, I haven't had time to keep up with any of my stories really, but I'm out to change that, so expect to see me more active. Thank you to all of thise who still read and enjoyed my stories, despite them looking so outdated. Leave a review, and as always, I will see you, in the next chapter, Buh-bye!**

Chapter 4: "A Friendly Discussion"

"What do you mean you had to?" Watson asked, struggling to keep up with Sherlock, who, paired with his naturally long strides, seemed to be planning to head right up to the office of Alfred Grover, and who also displayed little interest in his partner's question, which happened to be typical of Sherlock. Watson was used to being undermined by Sherlock, but, when he wanted an answer, Watson would usually be able to get it after some annoyance on Sherlocks.

"I ask again. What do you mean you had to?"

Again, Watson was met by merely silence. Sherlock's attention was pointed forward, and despite giving the impression that he had not heard Watson's question at all, he did.

"Sherlock, what do you-" He started a third time. However, he was cut off by the fruit of his labor; a response.

"John, if you can't find out the answer yourself, then you might as well give up." He barked in his frequent, condescending tone.

Watson rolled his eyes. "Oh, that's helpful."

Sherlock gave a heavy sigh. "What did you notice about the secretary?" He asked him, his eyes still ahead of him.

Watson took a moment to gather his thoughts. He thought to himself that he'd learn a thing or two about paying attention to detail, but to no avail, he could remember very little about the lady whom they talked with mere minutes ago.

Sherlock and Watson got onto the elevator that would eventually take them up to Grover's office, where, in Watson's mind, they would get some answers. Sherlock stood straight with his hands folded in front of him.

Watson perceived this, and he had to admit that it astonished him. Despite his years in the military, Watson never developed a posture like that of Sherlock Holmes. It was just one more of the many ways, that despite the man infuriating him at times, he admired him.

Sherlock, on the other hand, despite not showing, actually did enjoy the company of Watson, not merely as in a sense he was someone whom Sherlock had the acute pleasure of demonstrating his unique abilities, but that Watson made each case bearable for him, not to say that he couldn't do it all on his own, but Watson did provide a thing or two of his own that Sherlock was not used to.

Watson stood inside the elevator with Sherlock, his mind set on trying to recall details on a minute scale, but in reality, he could not do such a thing. Yet, he slowly learned as he stayed with Sherlock.

Eventually, Sherlock gave the answer. "Did you notice her eyes, first of all?"

Watson blinked. "Not really, although they seemed to dart around."

"Where?" Sherlock asked, although, of course, he knew the answer.

Watson shook his head. "I can't give you an answer to that, Sherlock."

"The woman made it a clear point to follow the paths of Alfred Grover; where he walked, how fast he walked, when he stopped, how long he stopped." Sherlock answered.

"So she was merely playing her memories out." Watson assumed.

Sherlock let slip a slight grin. "One would come to such a conclusion, but she knew each event well. If she had only watched a few times, or even at all. It would have been much more difficult for her to relate his habit. She must have been watching quite a few times."

Watson shrugged. "I suppose that could be understandable. She's a secretary, so she's used to seeing Mr. Grover go about every day."

Sherlock didn't comment, but merely continued on. "Her hands."

Watson blinked again. "Hidden behind her desk, most likely in her lap."

"She was moving them, though." Sherlock pointed out.

"She was nervous." Watson conflicted.

"About what?" Sherlock asked.

Watson shrugged. "You, most likely. Sherlock, you aren't the most friendly of people."

Sherlock ignored that, and continued on. "Why was she so interested in knowing about Mr. Grover then?"

"What are you asserting, Sherlock?" Watson asked him with a raised eyebrow.

"None other then that Sarah Parker had a sort of attraction to Alfred Grover." He said, looking over at Watson.

Watson was aghast. "Sherlock, you think you can make an assumption like that-"

"A conclusion." Sherlock interrupted.

"An assumption!" Watson repeated much louder. "That Sarah Parker has, or had now, whatever way you want to look at it, feelings for our deceased Alfred Grover?"

"John, it's merely a conclusion based on prior evidence." Sherlock replied.

"Sherlock! That's a dangerous claim. What do you know about love anyways?" He asked, nearly screaming.

"Calm down, John." Sherlock said, before becoming quiet, making seem like the conversation was over, but Sherlock was not about to let Watson have the last word. "I know you may think of me as a robot without emotions, John, but I'm as human you are." He said quietly.

"Sherlock!" Watson nearly screamed his head off, only to be cut off by the ding of the elevator. The doors slid open, causing Sherlock to smile.

"Oh, look, we're here."


	5. Office Investigation

**Author's Note: Hey everyone, here's chapter five! I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. I know it's been moving slow, but I can assure you, things will get better as the story goes on. I'm trying my hardest to write, and get stories out to you. As I've said before, my focus is only on A Hero Alone and this fanfiction, but I want to please you, the audience, so if you want to see one of my other fanfictions touched up on, or for me to through you guys a new story, just say so. You can PM me, or leave a review (much appreciated), any way of reaching out to me is fine. I would love to know how many people are regulars in keeping up with my stories, as it will tell me if I'm doing anything right at all. Until then, I will see you in the next chapter! **

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><p>Sherlock briskly stepped out of the elevator and went down the hall, a sly grin ever on his face. Watson, on the other hand, was very frustrated with Sherlock, but as they walked on, Watson came to a conclusion that he had reached many a time before: Sherlock Holmes would also get the last word. Sherlock was a true man, in the sense that what he said was usually true, no matter how absurd it may seem. Watson reflected this and ended it with a shake of his head. The last thing he wanted was a headache from Sherlock.<p>

Sherlock kept his eyes forward as he walked, no matter where his destination was. It didn't take the pair long to reach their destination. Sherlock went up to the door and swiped the access card he had acquired from Sarah Parker down in the lounge. The door emitted a click and Sherlock opened it to reveal a surprisingly clean work office that belonged to the late Alfred Grover.

Sherlock took no time in surveying the office for his own benefit, which was understandable in the first place due to the lack of substance in the room. Watson gave thought as to why Grover would have kept his office this way, but he could not draw a conclusion, so he assumed that Grover's lack of interior design was merely a matter of preference.

Sherlock's goal here was to find out anything that would hint to the murderer of Alfred Grover, because, even he did not know enough to even make a conjecture. The first set of actions that Sherlock followed through with involved him merely moving to the other side of the desk and sitting down. Watson shot him a look, which Sherlock did not respond to. Sherlock allowed himself a few moments to wheel about in Mister Grover's chair before rolling up to the desk and look through the drawers. He would have paid more attention to the surface of the desk had there been more there, but to further Alfred Grover's taste of design, there was almost nothing but the company telephone and a filing rack.

"Why do you think Alfred Grover lacked so much in decoration?" Watson asked, being forced to just stand by the desk and spectate on Sherlock's actions.

"I'm sure he believed it to be more work efficient." Sherlock replied, digging into one particular drawer. "Then again, he might have just been boycotting decor all together."

The drawer that Sherlock had been digging into had surprisingly contained a clearly unorganized stack of papers. It had taken Sherlock's attention, ultimately resulting in him lifting the stack of papers and setting them on the surface of the desk so he would have an easier time browsing through them.

"What kind of documents are they?" Watson asked.

"Nothing too relevant or helpful, mostly just business reports and the like." Sherlock replied, stopping to skim over a random paper.

"They aren't helpful in any way?" Watson asked, wanting verification.

"Unless you know of some use for them." Sherlock replied, setting the paper on a new stack he was forming. It was clear he was losing motivation in searching through the stack.

"No, I don't know myself, but surely, there must be something useful." Watson replied, sure of the fact.

Sherlock did not reply this time, and continued scanning through the papers. Nothing of interest came up at first, but just as Sherlock planned to give up, he stopped his searching to look over a paper that was not like the others. After further inspection, it turned out that the paper was actually a letter. It was not clear addressed, however.

"I believe I found something." Sherlock said.

Watson took a step closer and looked over Sherlock's shoulder. "See, I told you that you might find something. What is it?"

Sherlock turned the paper over to see if it had a back, and it did not. "Well, it's a letter from Alfred Grover to someone, and it isn't labeled."

Watson shrugged. "Well, read it." He said, folding his arms across his chest.

Sherlock read the letter to himself once before speaking it out loud. "I know what you want, and I want you to know, I'm working on it, too. What you're asking takes both time and resources, both of which I don't have, but am in the process of acquiring. You hold to your end of the bargain, and I guarantee you that my end will be upheld. You can't tell or harm the others, I don't want them involved, because, I want this only between you and I. We'll meet at the address we did last time, at nine o'clock of the seventh. We'll exchange what we have, and prepare for one last exchange afterwards. You'll make your money, I'll have the knowledge of the safety of both my family and theirs."

Sherlock took another moment to inspect the letter, while Watson tried to make sense of it. "That's more information than I expected." He said, scratching his head.

"Maybe, most of it is vague, though." Sherlock replied.

"Well, it does give us quite a bit into the story so far." Watson said. "And I'm sure we'll be able to find more out as we go, because we still have his residence to search, correct?"

"Yes, we do, and yes, we'll possibly find something there." Sherlock replied, folding the letter and sliding it into his coat pocket. "I think we're done here." He said, standing up from the desk chair.

Watson stepped back but looked at him. "Are you sure?" He asked.

Sherlock nodded. "The police will be here soon to search the place themselves. They'll pick up any scraps we left behind."

Watson sighed and nodded. "Do the police know we were going to be here?" He asked.

"Lestrade knows, or he might have guessed. Whichever comes first." Sherlock replied. After a moment, he smirked. "When has the police knowing or not ever stopped me from my work, John?" He asked, but didn't give Watson a chance to answer, as he was already leaving the office. "Come along, Watson, we're headed back to the station."


End file.
